


Take a Slice

by Schmuzz



Series: Uncalculated Risks [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Car Sex, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8113576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schmuzz/pseuds/Schmuzz
Summary: At the end of a successful art heist, Ryan picks Michael up in his Zentorno before heading to the safe house for a debriefing. They... get distracted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Done to Glass Animals’ “Take a Slice” which is an anthem, in my opinion, to dirty FAHC sex. 
> 
> See more at my tumblr: teamcrazydicks.tumblr.com

“Shit,” Michael threw the car in park before it could careen off the highway into a ditch. “Need an evac, like _right now_!” he yelled into his com, picking up the assault rifle he had in the passenger seat and shooting through the open window at the collection of LSPD officers that were swarming towards him, taking shots at both car tires and officers’ heads. “Actually, I needed an evac like two minutes ago, where the fuck _is_ everyone?”

“I’m turning around to come get you,” Ryan spoke up. “Sit tight.”

“That’s about all I can do. Jesus Christ, these guys just keep coming!” He slammed up against the driver’s seat and watched a bullet shoot into his open window, cutting through the air before making a spider-webbed crack in his windshield. He fumbled for a grenade before lobbing it out, checking the explosion from the still intact side mirror, smirking when he saw bodies fly – and Ryan’s car come careening down the highway from the wrong direction. He gathered up his gun and slid out of the passenger seat, practically jumping into the idling Zentorno, which made a wide circle and sped off down the road before Michael could even slam the door shut. He hung out the window, gun at the ready, but only a few squad cars could clear the wreckage he had created to follow them, and he dealt with them without too much trouble before Ryan tugged him back inside, the car going through a tunnel and coming out the other side alone and home free.

“Fuck yeah!” Michael said, a huge grin cutting his features, drawing dim attention to the split lip he’d somehow gotten at the beginning of the mission. “Another successful heist, if I do say so myself. Which I do.”

“Know who’s back at the safe house?”

Michael tugged the comm out of his ear, stowing it away in his jacket. “Jack, Geoff, and Gavin.”

“Jeremy?”

“Hiding from a police helicopter.” He saw Ryan’s hands flex on the wheel. “He hasn’t radioed for help since then. You know how sneaky he can be, probably stole a civilian’s car once the coast was clear.”

“It was touch and go for everyone, getting split up like that,” he offered. Moreso than usual heists, in fact. They had all gone into the largest art gallery Los Santos had, and made off with a dozen priceless pieces of modern art before the exhibit even started. It was risky, not because of the guards the museum had, but because they had to transport the paintings – and their massive canvases and heavy frames – which meant that no one was able to hold weapons. It left them totally exposed, working in an extreme time crunch before security, and the police, were alerted. Then they made their escape, hoping the LSPD would split evenly between the six of them and be easily picked off so they could get to the safe house in the desert. Aside from Michael’s slight hiccup, he’d say everything had gone well, none of them had even gotten shot.

“You’re telling me,” Michael said, leaning back in his seat and putting his feet up on the dashboard. “Thanks for the rescue, Ryebread,” he drawled, looking over at the Vagabond. “Why’d you come in this car, anyway? It’s not like we could exactly go up Chiliad if shit got bad with these thick ass rims.”

Ryan swatted his feet back to a normal sitting position and shut Michael’s window so they weren’t half shouting to hear each other. “I can’t believe you thanked me and shit on my car in the same breath,” he muttered. The buildings had become few and far in between, and they had slowed their speed so they wouldn’t be stopped as they went through the residential neighborhoods. Ryan liked to play it cool once the heist was in its aftermath, Michael never knew how he could, considering he was still trembling from the adrenaline.

They stopped at a light and Ryan tugged off his mask, tossing it into the backseat. His makeup was smudged along the sides of his face, a few streaks of sweat showing his skin, but it was still mostly intact.

“I’m just saying.”

“Other car got taken out when we were all leaving the gallery, shook the police long enough to get to a car garage – got a notice they fixed the Zentorno this morning, didn’t think I would pick it up so soon, but eh, what can you do?”

“It looks like it made it out fine,” Michael said, running his hand along the leather of Ryan’s seat, fingers brushing against the other’s black jacket as well. Ryan gave him a look from the corner of his eye, not registering the ‘Leaving Los Santos’ sign until Michael leaned forward and honked the horn.

“Do you have to do that every time?”

“It’s a tradition, sue me.”

Ryan huffed, before glancing back at Michael again, reaching up and tapping his right thumb against Michael’s split lip. “What happened here?”

“Close range with a museum guard. Got me before I could hop in the car. You already left.”

“You kill him?”

Michael could taste the salt of sweat and the bitterness of residual gun powder on Ryan’s skin, which made his cut sting further. “Yeah.” He thought idly about sucking his thumb before Ryan pulled away, splaying his hand on Michael’s knee. He wondered how long it’d stay there.

“What are you gonna do with your cut?”

“Well it’s not like cash, is it? Who even knows, bet Gavin already picked out the best looking art for his walls. We’ll have to sit on it for a few months at least before we can pass it off to dealers.”  He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the curls. “If you ask me, we should’ve stuck with banks.”

Ryan somehow managed to be the picture of bemusement, even under all that makeup and in profile. “I take it you’re not a fan of Picasso, then.”

“I don’t get all the abstract shit. Whatever happened to Monet, you know? My fuckin’ mom loves Monet, last I heard, at least. And it’s one letter off from money which, when we finally do pawn off these things, we’ll be making a shit ton of.” He sighed. “It’s the waiting I hate, though.”

“Actually, before my old car got totally shot up, I did manage some petty theft.”

Michael quirked his lips in a smile. “Classic Ryan. How much?”

“Eh, just over three hundred, but since it still counts as minor theft in Geoff’s book, I don’t have to declare it.”

Michael glanced around the car before popping open the glove compartment. “See you picked up some smokes while you were at it.” Amoung other things. Michael moved the cash aside and picked up the pack of Vogue slims. He snorted through his nose. “Really?” He shook the pack.

“They’re light and airy. Refreshing.”

“Yeah, nothing like tobacco and carcinogens to imitate a breath of mountain air.” Nevertheless he pulled out a lighter he had in his jacket and wrestled one out of the carton. “You mind?” Ryan merely raised a brow as Michael rolled the window down again and lit up. “What?”

“Thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Correction: I don’t smoke _often_.” Cigarette firmly in his mouth and seat belt still not on, he wriggled out of his jacket, the crease of his elbows tacky with drying sweat. “My hands are still shaking, need something to settle the adrenaline rush.” _That_ made Ryan’s hand trail higher up his thigh. Another inch and it’d be indecent. Well, to decent people at least. Michael nudged the glove box shut with his knee, stretching his left arm behind Ryan’s seat. The warmth from the open window came rushing inside in the form of hot, sun-saturated wind. Michael finished half the cigarette in silence, shifting in his seat, noticing the air conditioner was still on but the radio wasn’t, and Ryan kept giving him lingering glances in between checking his mirrors. His body was all flushed, from the sunlight, from his heart still beating fast. He leaned back and spread his legs, trying to get more comfortable when the tobacco didn’t do its job.

Instead he felt Ryan’s hand on his thigh, large and warmer than the sun.

He flicked his cigarette off onto the dusty road, leveling Ryan with a stare. “What do you want?” he demanded. Despite his words, Michael didn’t look suspicious, in fact he wasn’t even annoyed. This was a familiar dance between them, especially after some big escapade, the needling, the looks, the touches – all possessing a different weight because of the blood under their fingernails, fresh injuries, and gun smoke still in the air. Maybe the rest of the crew didn’t understand it, but _they_ did.

“They’re all gonna want to debrief once we get back to the safe house. Paintings are harder to cut than cash.”

Michael stuck a second cigarette between his teeth and lit it. “Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”  He put his feet back up on the dashboard, smoke billowing in a thin stream out the open window. “You know, we could just keep driving,” he said casually.

“Oh yeah?”

He shut his eyes. Rysn's thumb thumb was now stroking little circles along the outer seam of his jeans. “Till the car runs outta gas, sell it, keep going.”

“Going where?”

“Down into Mexico? Back east? Who cares – so long as it’s just us, right? We’d make it anywhere we went.”

“I don’t think our friends would appreciate it.” He could practically hear Ryan’s conspiring smile. It was funny, the way he called them friends. The Crew… well, they were definitely more entwined than teammates. But friends implied people you found on your own, people you did normal things with. Michael considered them family. You picked your friends, after all. The Crew picked him, just like it picked Ryan.

He and Ryan picked each other. “Yeah well, I’m not fucking our friends, am I?” He dared to open his eyes and the quick peripheral gaze Ryan gave him was still enough to make his heart pound faster than when he went into a firefight.

“I don’t need to drive off into the sunset just to fuck you,”

“That is absolutely true.” Michael grinned and flicked the cigarette out the window, spotting a speck in the quickly covered distance. “Pull over.”

The desert always had a few remnants of people that tried to survive but couldn’t quite handle the heat. There was a dilapidated motel, its exterior had been a coral pink, back in the seventies or so when it still had customers. Now it had no windows, the parking lot that surrounded the building on all sides contained more plants than asphalt. Ryan pulled up and put the car in park, Michael rolled up the window before taking off his shoes and wrestling his way into the back. He plucked the skull mask from its seat, putting his hand inside to give it more shape. “Alas, poor Yorick,” he said, smiling at the unamused look Ryan shot him. He was digging through the glove compartment and tossed a condom and packet of lube on Michael’s stomach for his trouble. “Wow, way to romance me.”

“You asked me to fuck the leftover adrenaline out of you, give me a break.”

“I said no such thing.”

“I read your mind, then, didn’t I?” Instead of an answer, Michael shoved the mask under the passenger seat and tugged Ryan’s arm until he came tumbling ungracefully into the back with him.

He put a hand on the back of Ryan’s neck, pinky dipping right beneath his shirt collar. Ryan did the decent thing and closed the gap, mouths meeting together in a surprisingly gentle first kiss, tongue laving over the cut on his lip. Michael relaxed into the seat, spreading his legs as much as he could so the other man could rest between them.

Then Ryan bit his lip until his cut reopened, a tinge of copper between them, and Michael deepened the kiss and wrapped his leg around Ryan’s hip, grinding their crotches together. He started grabbing at Ryan’s jacket, fingers digging into the material. Ryan pulled back slightly, already breathing heavier than normal.

His eyes looked down at him, light blue and scrutinizing. Michael gave him a smile, feeling sweat already starting to form along his hairline and on the bottom of his back. Ryan ducked down, kissing his neck and making him jump at the feeling.

“Sensitive?” He felt Ryan’s teeth against his skin, then another kiss.

“Like you didn’t know that the second we started fucking. Are you gonna keep the jacket on?”

“Maybe,” Ryan pushed his hips into Michael’s, slowly grinding against him like he was testing how it felt, the pleasure of the pressure he created and the uncomfortable twinge of being constrained by rough clothing. “You got a problem with that?”

Michael reached between them, fumbling impatiently with Ryan’s belt and unbuttoning his jeans. “So long as these are off,” he grunted. Ryan grabbed his hands and held them in his own, fingers tangling together as he pressed them above Michael’s head, bending down to kiss him again, teeth reappearing to bite at the base of his collarbone. “Shit,” he panted, hips bucking up against Ryan’s on instinct. Fucker probably had him trained by now. He wrestled one of his hands free, fingers carding up the short hair at the nape of the other’s neck before tugging more insistently at the longer strands. He could feel the heat and sensitivity emanating from different points along his neck, little love bites Ryan liked to give him.

He tugged Ryan’s hair more insistently, slipping his hand to his jaw and kissing his throat for a change. Both hands free again, he slipped them under the shirt the other had on, scratching his nails against the light trial of hair he had from his navel down before settling right above his hips, squeezing too hard, leaving marks and driving the other’s crotch against his own even harder than before.

The thin skin along Ryan’s collarbones still smelt like him instead of the job – leather and long faded witch hazel from his after shave, and whatever else Ryan’s scent was composed of, all naturally mixed together so completely that Michael could never pick them apart, but that didn’t stop him from trying, tugging the collar of Ryan’s shirt down, kissing the top of his chest and pressing his nose into warm skin.

He felt Ryan’s own hands push up his shirt, open his jeans, fingers brushing against his cock and making him twitch.

“Eager to get started?” Michael teased, still kissing every inch of skin he could find.

“Thought you were the one who wanted to fuck in the car.”

“Oh, sorry, I got the impression you wanted to get your dick wet, considering you pulled over and are currently crushing me.”

Ryan blinked. “…I’m not actually crushing you, am I?”

“Nah, now take these off, not in the mood to roll over.”

“You’re never in the mood to roll over,” Ryan countered, wrestling with Michael’s trousers in the confined space before he finally freed the other, leaving him just about naked.

“Safest way to not get come on the seats, I thought you’d be happy.”

Ryan was busy trying to tug his jeans down while looking for the lube and condom that had fallen to the floor at some point. It was kind of funny, how he was struggling but trying to make every movement seem casually unhurried, how he _would_ have looked casual and unhurried to anyone but Michael. “If you were really that concerned about my cars then you would stop putting your dirty shoes all over the dashboard.”

“Nah,” Michael said dismissively, waving a hand and clearly imitating the other. Ryan shot him a look. He pushed Michael’s legs up, settling between them and ripping open the lube. Michael decided to be helpful, tugging his legs more against his chest while Ryan swiped lube along his hole before slipping a finger inside. “Shit, warn me next time?”

“Did it hurt?”

“No,”

“Then stop complaining.” Michael rolled his eyes, and the second finger that joined the first was less of a surprise and more of a continuation of their conversation. Then, “You’re still kind of open,” Ryan murmured, free hand idly petting Michael’s stomach, feather-light touch making his cock twitch again.

“What do you expect? We fucked this morning.”

“Which is possibly the best good luck ritual ever,” Ryan said, eyes brightening with an impish glint, probably flashing back to that morning – waking up earlier than normal, reaching for each other before they were fully conscious, not talking but kissing; Michael straddling Ryan and grinning wickedly down at him while he controlled the pace, torturous and tender at the same time.

Back in the present, Ryan’s fingers continued to work into Michael, adding a third while his other hand trailed from Michael’s stomach to his cock, not fully hard yet.

Michael couldn’t help how his eyes shut, a groan leaving his mouth when Ryan’s hand – large, warm, familiar – enclosed around his shaft, too dry to do more than squeeze him gently and rub his thumb just under the head of his cock. “Fuck,” he said quietly, always more prone to words than sighs or moans.

Not that Ryan had any problem working those out of him, either.

The feeling of fullness was intoxicating, and Michael had to bite his cheek to stay quiet once Ryan slipped his fingers out of him. Michael, grabbed the condom and tore it out of its wrapper, shifting up for a moment to roll it down Ryan’s cock – hard and thick and hot and about to go inside him. He looked up at the other man. “Fuck me.”

Ryan didn’t hesitate, pushing Michael back against the seat and pushing his legs up until his toes were nearly brushing the car’s ceiling. “With pleasure,” he said, sinking halfway inside with one long thrust.

Michael pressed one hand against his stomach as Ryan bottomed out inside of him, his other arm tugging Ryan’s shirt down until the he got the picture and kissed him, their mouths flushed dark and nearly stinging from the attention. Michael only got a chance to breathe when Ryan ducked down, returning to the marks he had given Michael earlier and going over them, renewing the sting he felt.

There was no way the car _wasn’t_ shaking, with how deep Ryan was fucking into him, as though he wanted Michael to squirm, to pull away. As if Michael was doing anything besides grind his hips back against Ryan’s, both to try and get closer to him and to avoid hitting his head against the door. The idling Zentorno still pumped out cold air from the vents, but that hardly seemed to matter. He could feel the sweat gathering along his skin every time he moved; Michael had no idea how Ryan managed to keep his jacket on – but fuck, he couldn’t say that he didn’t love the sight of it.

“Shit, Ryan” Michael grunted, hands scrabbling for purchase but quickly slipping from the slick material of the leather. That was the only downside to wearing it.

“Want me to take it off?” Ryan asked, red lips curled up in a shaky smirk.

“Like hell we’re stopping for that,” Michael said, working his hands under Ryan’s jacket, splaying along the t-shirt he wore underneath. Ryan offered, but the way his words came out wobbly and stalled meant that he was as far gone as Michael, unconcerned in anything that wasn’t the heat of their cocks and the press of their mouths and the noises they made, sounding so loud in their own ears, the obscenity of it making it so much more _fun._

The head of Ryan’s cock pressed up against his prostate and Michael nearly yelped, his own cock twitching against his belly, and goddamn – _that_ was fun, too.

He slipped his left hand from Ryan’s back and held it up to the other’s face, who only stared at it for a second before leaning forward, licking a long, wet stripe up his palm, stopping to suck on Michael’s first two fingers, tongue laving in circles and between the digits until Michael bit at his swollen lips and forcibly pulled away, slipping down to stroke his own desperate cock.

“S-Shit,” his words and his body jumped slightly as he grabbed his cock for the first time, the weight heavy and familiar in his hand. “Fuck me harder – _fuck_ , yeah, like that,” he grit his teeth, breathing suddenly much harder to do as Ryan pushed into him even faster and more rough than before, every inward thrust hitting deep inside him and practically knocking all the air out of his lungs. He tilted his head up, sweat beading down his hairline as Ryan scrabbled for purchase along his hips, pulling their bodies flush together.

“God, you look so good,” Ryan panted, leaning the upper half of his body away so he could take in how far gone Michael was. He hitched the other's legs higher, trying to drive as deep as he could and making Michael’s words finally fail him – broken off curses turning into moans as he stroked his cock faster, so close to coming and desperate for it now more than ever.

His whole body tense with the need to come, Michael hitched his leg around Ryan’s hip again, pressing into his back with his heel and squeezing tight around his shaft, making him groan and lean forward, clumsily biting at Michael’s collar as his thrusts turned into grinding; that maddening, hypnotic circular motion of his hips making his cock go as deep as it could inside Michael. He stroked his own cock even faster, feeling that electric tingling sensation spread throughout his body, that aching feeling that would only go away once he came.

“Michael,” Ryan grit out, breath hot against his throat. “Fuck, _Michael_ –” His voice broke off as he came, biting down on sensitive skin as his cock pulsed deep inside and that was it, Michael’s own orgasm slamming into him and leaving him unable to do anything but gasp and quake underneath Ryan.

It felt so, so good. Heart pounding in his ears while every other muscle in his body went limp, his mind momentarily, blissfully blank. Full and warm, his hand slowly slipped off his shaft, not fighting the aftershocks that made him twitch. Without thinking about it, he leaned down and pressed a kiss into Ryan’s hair.

A few minutes passed before they moved any further, and it was Ryan who did first; leaning up on his elbows and carding fingers through Michael’s curls.

Michael gave him a smile, large and tired and giddy all at once. “You fucked the adrenaline outta me, Rye-bread,” he mumbled.

“Oh? Do I get a prize?”

Michael shut his eyes. “Yeah. I tell everyone that we’re late to the debriefing ‘cause I seduced you.”

“We are late because you _did_ seduce me.”

Michael furrowed his brows and waved his hand. “Please, you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions about whether you want to get seduced or not.” He cracked an eye open, taking in Ryan’s icy blue gaze – though, not so icy now. His facepaint was almost gone, between the sweat and pressing up against Michael. He wondered if any of it got on his clothes, wouldn't be the first time. “Let me up, we gotta get going.”

The other man sighed, slipping out of Michael and making the pair of them wince at the strange feeling. He tied the condom off and straightened out his clothes, opening the car door and stepping out into the sun. He settled back in the driver's seat and tossed Michael a few napkins from the glove compartment. After he cleaned up the mess on his stomach and struggled back into his own clothes, they were both back up front, Ryan’s hand on the gear stick.

They didn’t go just yet, the pair of them looking out the windshield at the grimy skeleton of a motel. Michael dimly wondered how many other people had pulled over for a quick fuck in the parking lot before them. Probably a lot. There was a reason he didn't want to get out of the car and walk around the parking lot, after all. “Still wanna keep driving?” Ryan asked abruptly, turning to look at Michael and forcing the younger man out of his thoughts.

The question didn’t come out of nowhere: Ryan and Michael, Michael and Ryan – or Mogar and the Vagabond, as so many people knew them – they both had the shared history of drifters. Hitmen, freelancers, guns for hire; staying with a crew out of necessity or a bigger cut of cash rather than protection or connections. It was funny how similar their lives ran before they met each other.

Well, Michael had only been half-kidding when he first suggested that they keep driving an hour ago, and he’d be flat out lying if he said he didn’t get that itch, that restlessness that told him to pick up and leave and never look back, even if that meant leaving the Crew. “Kind of. A little bit, always. But…”

“But?”

But this time, he had something more anchoring than money, or a twisted glory to his name, or even something he could call a family for the first time in a decade. “As long as you’re here it doesn’t matter.” Michael said, and he said it easily, without hesitation. Then he pulled Ryan in for another kiss, this one slower than the others before but still burning hot.

This time he had Ryan, someone as unpredictable and untamable as him. And it was grounding, to have someone just like you, someone who knew every inch of what and who you were and still wanted _this_. If nothing else, the Crew gave him that, gave him Ryan.

And he could feel Ryan smiling against his mouth – a genuine kind of smile, a gentle one. “Good to hear,” he murmured, and all Michael heard was “Me too.”


End file.
